Decommission
by Mark Geoffrey Norrish
Summary: Harry decides that the portrait of Sirius' mother needs to go, and gets more than he bargained for. Post-DH, canon compliant.


The curtains were drawn over the painting. Harry cracked his knuckles and drew his wand.

"You've been a thorn in my side for long enough," he said. "You've mocked me, spat on my friends and family, and helped drive my godfather to the brink of madness. But I'm Harry Potter, and _I killed Voldemort_. If you think a mere painting is going to defeat me now, you've got another think coming."

He yanked back the curtains. Behind was Sirius' mother, Walburga Black, looking just as crazy as ever. She drew a breath to begin screaming, but Harry was faster.

"_Accio painting!_"

Nothing happened.

"FOUL HALF-BLOOD, SPAWN OF DECEIT AND CORRUPTION_–"_

"Oh yeah, Permanent Sticking Charm," said Harry, drowned out by her screaming. "_Finite incantatem._"

"– STAIN UPON THIS NOBLE HOUSE, TRAITOR TO ALL THIS IS GOOD AND RIGHT–"

"_Finite incantatem,_" he tried again, but the Sticking Charm held fast. "_Finite_, you stupid piece of–"

"– AND DESECRATOR OF THE WAY OF THE PURE!"

"Fine, you asked for it," he said. "_Diffindo! Sectumsempra! Reducto!_"

The first two dissipated without effect. The third ricocheted and almost took his head off; he ducked at the last instant. It blasted a hole through to the spare bedroom.

"SCUM!" the portrait yelled. "SCUM! YOU ARE SCUM! YOU WALLOW IN SCUM!"

.. ... ...

Ginny sipped her tea in the next room over, with Ron and Hermione. She had been glad to go back to her family after Voldemort's death, but her mother had been even more suffocating than before. Here at Grimmauld Place wasn't as much better as she had thought. Ron and Hermione were still in the gooily affectionate phase of their romance, and Harry…

"_Scum! You are scum! You wallow in scum! You would be the downfall of high civilisation!_"

"_Will you shut up! Reidelendum!_"

There came a muffled boom. Plaster dust rained down from the ceiling. Hermione began brushing it out of Ron's hair.

"Do you think we should help him?" Ginny asked.

"This is something he needs to do by himself," Hermione said, staring soppily into Ron's eyes, clearly not paying any attention.

Ginny shook her head in disgust. They'd been unbearable since the battle.

Harry came staggering in, his hair frizzed up and his face blackened like he'd been struck by lightning. He leaned heavily against the wall. Only Ginny paid him any mind.

"Dear, sweet Hermione," he began.

"Hm?" she asked, looking up at last.

"I need the most destructive magic this side of Dark you can find," he said.

"Can it wait?" she asked. She went back to grooming her boyfriend.

Ginny grimaced at Harry. He gave her a questioning look. She shrugged; his expression hardened.

"Not really," he said. "But don't worry if you're too tired."

"What?" she said, turning back. "I'm not tired."

"Oh, sorry," said Harry, "I just assumed. Back in fifth year, you would have dropped everything to help out with something like this."

"It's not that," said Hermione. "I just…"

"Hey, we're best friends," said Harry. "You don't need to make excuses to me if you don't want to do something."

"It's not that I don't want to," Hermione said. "I'll get right on it." And she stood up and headed off to the library.

Ron glared. "That was low," he said.

Harry shrugged unsorrily.

.. ... ...

Hermione took three days to prepare her solution. Harry, Ron and Ginny followed her; Hermione's best efforts at destruction had never failed to be spectacular before.

"Safety first," she said. She was wearing goggles over her head and a thick alchemy smock. She had a cauldron of a black tarry substance, a vial of green oil, and a bottle of milk. "So, I'm sure you're all wondering what these are for."

"Yes, Professor," said Ron.

She giggled at this. Even after several weeks, Harry still found a giggling Hermione deeply disturbing. She continued. "This black potion is _aqua penultimata_. It's an incomplete potion. When I mix it with the essence of bicorn, it will form _aqua ultimata._"

Harry and the Weasleys all exchanged glances.

"Better known as the universal solvent," Hermione continued, slightly put out that no-one had recognised it. "It's very dangerous stuff; it can eat through anything. Walls, clothes, human flesh … and canvas. It should be able to dissolve the painting right off the wall."

"So, it's a really strong acid?" Harry asked.

"Its pH is actually only about a 4; its destructive power is magical," said Hermione.

"So, it's a magic acid," said Ron.

"Exactly," she said, beaming.

"If it can dissolve walls," said Ginny, "what's to stop it dissolving down into the cellar and then the sewers and–?"

"It decomposes once it's sufficiently diluted," Hermione said, "so it should decay by itself if that happens. However, milk is also capable of neutralising it, forming concentrated Baxter's Solution and vinegar. If you get any on your clothes, take that clothing off immediately and drip some milk on it; if you get any on your skin, wipe it into the carpet and pour milk on the wound. The carpet is replaceable; we aren't. Don't worry about modesty; we're all adults here."

"Of course," said Ron.

"Absolutely," said Harry. Ron punched his shoulder; Ginny sniggered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She pulled her goggles down, wrapped a gauze scarf over her mouth, and picked up the _penultimata_ and bicorn essence. "On the count of three. One … two…"

Harry pulled the curtains open. Walburga instantly began shrieking at them.

"MUDBLOOD, BLOOD TRAITORS, DISHONOUR UPON MY NOBLE HOUSE–"

"WILL YOU HURRY UP?" Ginny asked Hermione, hands clapped over her ears.

Hermione either ignored or simply didn't hear her, and continued slowly, methodically slopping the viscous black fluid over the frame. When it was thickly covered, she took a step back, made sure her hands were clean, and unstoppered the bicorn.

"Oh, what a world," she murmured, drowned out by the painting's unabated rant, and upended the vial. It reacted with the _penultimata_, forming a clear liquid like water which hissed and steamed and began corroding the frame.

"SHAME, AT THIS NOXIOUS TAINT AGAINST THE RIGHTEOUS WAY! THAT IT SHOULD COME TO THIS, IN MY OWN HOME! A MUGGLE HARLOT MINGLING WITH GOOD PUREBLOOD LINEAGE!"

"HEY, HERMIONE," said Ron, "SHOULDN'T SHE BE DISSOLVING RIGHT ABOUT NOW?"

"UM," Hermione said. The frame was blistering and turning to ash, but the actual canvas wasn't affected at all.

"I DON'T THINK IT'S WORKING," said Ginny.

"WHEN THE DARK LORD RETURNS, ALL SHALL BE MADE RIGHT! THE UNWORTHY SHALL BE CAST DOWN, AND ALL SHALL BE AS IT WAS!"

"YES IT IS!" Harry shouted back, pointing at the wall around the painting. The wallpaper was cracking and peeling off. The _ultimata_ ran down to the carpet, burnt a hole straight through the floorboards, and began dripping down into the cellars. "HERMIONE! GET THE MILK!"

"I'M ENDING THIS RIGHT NOW!" Ron shouted. "_INCENDIO!_"

"NO!" everyone else cried, but they were too late.

The _ultimata_ caught fire and exploded, burning holes through walls and carpets and speckling their outer robes. Harry tore his off, drew his wand and conjured a stream of milk to hose Ginny down, which for some reason she didn't seem to approve of.

"THIS DISGRACE SHALL BE LAID LOW, AND ALL SHALL RETURN TO THEIR RIGHTFUL PLACES!"

"RETREAT!" shouted Ron, as Hermione slung the bottle of milk around like a fire fighter.

.. ... ...

They regrouped in the attic to plan their next move. Walburga could still be heard below, raving at the walls.

"We're approaching the problem from the wrong angle," said Ginny, who'd taken time to charm the milk off herself and chew Harry out, although she hadn't yet changed clothes. "Maybe we should just cut the wall out. Or plaster over it."

"No," said Harry. "For one thing, it's on a load-bearing wall, and for another, I'm not getting beaten by a painting. This is personal now."

"Maybe you should give up," said Ron, wearing only pants and a bedsheet draped like a toga. "I mean, so far you've only succeeded in partly destroying the house. Maybe she really is indestructible."

"She can't be, love," said Hermione, the only person there who seemed entirely comfortable with his state of dress. "Nothing's truly indestructible. You certainly can't make a painting be, not with publicly known enchantments, anyway."

"Could there be something in the Black library?" Ron suggested. "It's full of Dark lore; there might be something in there to make things extra-resilient."

"Well," said Harry, "there is _one_ Dark enchantment we know that can make objects really tough."

There was a pause.

"_No_," said Ron, "you _don't_ think–?"

"It's a Dark family," said Harry. "And, really, what would be more logical to make into a Horcrux than a portrait of oneself?"

"So what are you going to do?" Hermione asked. "Use the Elder Wand, or–?"

"I'd rather leave that as a last resort. Do you still have that Basilisk fang?"

.. ... ...

"This is stupid," said Ron.

"It's the only way," said Harry.

"Not disputing that," Ron replied. "It's still stupid, though."

The girls sensibly stood twenty feet off to the side this time. Ron insisted on being closer in case the painting tried anything, as the locket had.

"Right, count of three," said Harry.

"As always," Ron said. "Three – two – one –"

He ripped the curtains open, and Walburga Black glared out. The painting's frame was gone, dissolved by the universal solvent, but the canvas remained, as vitriolic as ever.

"BEGONE! LEAVE ME TO MY HOME! LEAVE THE WORTHY TO THEIR LIVES, TAKE YOUR SLIME-BORN STRUMPET WITH YOU, AND NEVER AGAIN DARKEN MY DOORS!"

"SHUT UP!" Harry shouted, and with a vicious diagonal overhead slash, he dug a deep gouge into the canvas. "SHUT _UP_!" He punctuated his words with more strikes. "DON'T YOU – DARE – TALK THAT WAY – ABOUT MY FRIENDS! THEY'RE GOOD PEOPLE – UNLIKE YOU, YOU – FOUL, MISERABLE OLD – HARPY!"

The last of the fang's venom leached into the painting, burning it before their eyes. Walburga shrieked as multicoloured slime seeped out, a burst of black oily fluid sprayed out and covered Harry, and the painting fell off the wall.

Harry fell back, panting. The fang fell from his hand.

Some instinct made him turn left. Mrs Weasley was standing there, her mouth a perfect O.

"Oh," he said. "I, er. Hi. Didn't see you there."

"I just Flooed in," she said, staring. "Ginny, dear, why don't you come home for dinner now."

"It's three o'clock," Ginny said.

"_Now_," her mother stressed. Ginny shot Harry an apologetic look. "You, too, Ron, and Hermione. Harry, you must … er … we'll see you again sometime."

He watched as his friends trooped out, then turned to the fang on the floor and the blackened, shredded remains of the painting.

"Worth it," he said.


End file.
